Alternet Atlantis
by Sw0rd Slinger
Summary: An AU telling of Atlantis. A lot changes, and a lot stays the same. Read and find out.


Doctor Rodney McKay sat staring out the helicopter window, looking over the bleak, white Antarctic landscape waiting for takeoff. He had been through this procedure dozens of times. While he still feared death at the hands of some nameless, faceless mechanic's incompetence, he had grown oddly at ease with the flights to and from McMurdo Air Force Base. He even found them relaxing—with the right pilot, of course.

Today he was in luck! One of his favorite pilots was on duty. This flight would go smoothly. His last flight here had not, having been unlucky enough to have one of those hotshot pilots who resented being a glorified taxi service for research scientists. Pilots like that pulled every stunt they could get away with, pitching them this way and that, to try to make their passengers lose their lunch by way of recompense. Not this one—not Major John Sheppard. He was at ease with his assignment here, despite the punishment his superiors intended it to be. After all, what other reason could a combat pilot have for flying in this frozen—though still beautiful—desolation of a continent?

Rodney had been surprised to say the least, when he found the Major liked to fly in the Antarctic. It was peaceful—so he claimed. More than a few times, he had flown alone with Sheppard. Up until that one flight when the military man had mentioned it being peaceful, the two had always shared their flights in a weird, companionable silence. After that, the floodgates had opened, and they spent the rest of the flight talking—arguing actually—about penguins of all things!

On their next flight alone, the two had resumed their argument, but it died down and the subject unexpectedly changed. It soon became apparent to McKay that Sheppard was one of the few military personnel who used their brain for more than just the basics. The odds of that were staggering. Slowly over the next few months, the two men developed an odd, antagonistic almost combative friendship.

Today, however, they were not alone. Two other people were on the flight as well. One of them was a marine transferring out to the research station. He had the board, disgruntled look of a man who would rather be doing something else. He looked like one of those gung-ho, 'Simper-Fi', shoot-everything-in-sight types. Basically, an over educated trigger finger.

The other caught his attention, and held it. She was a pretty little slip of a blonde—he always had a thing for blondes. Hardly an expert, but he estimated her in her mid-twenties. More than likely a research assistant, working towards her degree. Difficult to say dressed in all the winter gear, but she seemed to have a decent figure for her petite frame. Her hair was up and—wow, was she pretty.

The marine climbed in up front with the Major, leaving the scientist to find her seat in the rear with McKay. Once they were all settled in and the helicopter airborne, Sheppard addressed them through the com, he said simply, "Our estimated flight time out to the research station is approximately one hour."

Shortly after takeoff, a crosswind buffeted the helicopter; the light jostling was normal. Having experienced it before, McKay though nothing of it, until he turned and caught sight of the research assistant. She had a sickly green pallor to her pretty face. The aircraft rocked again, and the blonde was holding onto her seat with a death grip. He wanted to smile, to chuckle—not because he found her situation amusing, though it certainly was, but because he wanted to comfort her, and he did not know why.

"First time in a helicopter," he asked.

She looked at him questioningly, and then nodded the affirmative, her innocent face a mask of terror. Finally, he knew why he wanted to comfort her! That amazing look of child-like innocence that twinkling lightly in her soft brown eyes. It tugged at him in a way he never thought he would feel again.

"It's not that bad," he paused offering a light smile, "Once you get used to it that is." This time his words had the desired effect. The woman sitting across from him returned his smile with one of her own. As small as it was, that smile was enough to light up her face. A face that was more than just pretty; with that smile she was beautiful.

"It's not that I don't like to fly. On the contrary, I love to fly ever since my dad took me up for the first time in his old two-seater, when I was little. Unfortunately, I have issues with heights, thanks to a century oak and an idiot neighbor with a bb gun." Talking had allowed her to relax some, and she no longer looked as green as she had. The more she talked, the more she relaxed and opened up. The more she opened up, the more animated their conversation became. The more animated, the more magnificent and striking her smile became "I'm Jennifer, by the way."

The rest of the flight went smoothly and far too quickly for Rodney's liking, especially with such an attractive and obviously brilliant person to talk with. Maybe even as brilliant as he was; no doubt, she had an exceptional career ahead of her. While making the approach for landing, the Major's voice came over the radio again. This time it was with a hint of humor in his voice. "Attention all passengers; please place your tray tables in their upright positions, and please remain seated until the aircraft has come to full and complete stop. And thank you all for flying 'Air-Sheppard'."

Once they were back on the ground, the three passengers climbed out. Jennifer let out a relived breath, muttering to herself as she did so. McKay only managed to pick out "Terre Firma". The marine, with no thought or care for any of the sensitive instruments they might be carrying, all but threw their bags out on the ground in order to get to his stowed in the back of the cargo compartment and just grunted as he slung his own over his shoulder, not even bothering to offer the scientists any help, before walking away.

Over the years, with all his moving from job to job, project to project, Rodney had learned to travel light. Naturally, the concept of "light" varied from person to person, but for MacKay that meant one duffle bag and one suitcase, not counting the equipment for his research experiments of course. But seeing her struggle with her own bag, he felt compelled to offer assistance, saying, "Here, let me get that for you."

"No!—no thank you, I've got it, I can do it on my own." She smiled brightly in reassurance as she lifted the strap of her duffel bag onto her shoulder. Holding it in place with her other hand, she bent down and took hold of the shorter grip straps, then lifted. Off balance, she staggered then slipped on a hidden patch of ice. She fell back first into a nearby snow bank. Looking up at him, she smiled again, this time with a slightly embarrassed flush creeping onto her features. "Okay, maybe I don't."

"Tell you what," he said, his smile becoming predatory, "I'll go on inside and wait for you, 'Miss I can do it on my own'." Turning, he heard her sputtering squawk of protest then stopped, looking at her again, "Or… I can help you up and carry your bag for you."

"Fine," she huffed, taking hold of his outstretched hand, "you win."

He just smirked in amusement. Normally he would have just left her there to struggle with her bag. It was not his problem if she over packed; he never involved himself in other people's problems—_never!_ Something about her, about the innocence she projected, made him want to play the proverbial knight in shining armor.

After helping the woman to her feet, Rodney hefted her bag, the weight of it more than he had expected. He could not help but ask the age-old cliché, "What've you got packed in this thing?—Bricks? Or is it the kitchen sink?" He could not believe his ears! He had just cracked a joke, and with practically a complete stranger no less! Amazingly enough, she was actually laughing at it though. It was not the harsh wheezing bray, he had expected, nor the stammering cough of incredulity he was accustomed to, but rather soft and musical. It was more of a titter than a proper laugh, and quite infectious really. And his own chuckles accenting hers nicely, too nicely almost.

When their laughter died away, they walked in silence, save for the howling of the wind whipping at their backs, to the main entrance of the research outpost.

* * *

Once inside, Jennifer took her bag from the strange man who had shared her flight here. He was, charming in his own way, though he tended to talk too much. She looked at him again, his sly smile making her do so, his bright blue eyes lighting up as he spoke to her. More importantly, he did not seem threatened by how intelligent she was. If anything, he seemed excited by it. He was… He was cute. A small blush began to creep over her face as she realized where her thoughts were heading.

"Well, I have to go," he said abruptly, his tone turning dark, "check in, and make sure nobody screwed anything up while I was away. I swear, it's like none of these idiots knows what to do if I'm not here to show them. I guess I'll see you around."

She just smiled lightly, "Maybe."

"Oh, hey," she called as he turned to leave, "I didn't get your name!"

"McKay," he shot back, "Doctor Rodney McKay."

She was astounded to say the least. This kind, funny, _cute_ guy was the Head of Research; the insidious, cruel monster that everyone had warned her about? She could not believe they were one in the same. Maybe she had heard wrong?—or it could be a different Rodney McKay? Before she could ask, he was gone. She sighed in disappointment.

She still needed to report to her new boss in the infirmary. Sighing again, she picked up her bag—maybe she had overdone it!—but who knew what to pack for the Antarctic? Slowly but surely she made her way to the infirmary. By the time she reached her destination, she was panting and had broken in to a sweat. Leaning against the door to catch her breath, she saw her old friend, tutor, and now boss hard at work.

Carson Becket—Doctor Carson Becket—sat hunched over, peering down into a microscope, while feverishly scribbling notes on a pad, oblivious to everything else around him. From what she could see, he had not shaved in days. He straightened, raising his arms to stretch as a yawn split his jaw wide, before reaching to scratch at his heavy five o'clock shadow—it was nearly a full-fledged beard. Those few motions set his shoulders to crackling like a bowl of Rice Krispies. She winced at the sound; he probably had not moved in hours.

"Ahem," she coughed, catching his attention. She dropped her bag, bracing herself for the bear hug to come. This was a reunion long overdue. He looked up and bolted from his chair for her, his arms flung wide for a grand embrace. He held her tightly. Finally, he let her go and she could breathe again.

"Jennifer, I wasn't expecting you 'til Tuesday," he said in his familiar Scottish burr; he seemed genuinely surprised to see her. He had forgotten what day it was!

"Carson," she said, tentatively, "today _is_ Tuesday."

"Is it, now?" he asked, scratching his head in confusion.

"Yes."

"Sorry, luv, I guess I got caught up in mah, research," he replied sheepishly.

_Of course, he had_, she thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, though he had sense enough to be embarrassed for it. She could not really blame him, however as she too could zone out like that. Near as she could tell, it seemed to be a common trait among upper echelons of the scientific community. The major drawback was that it was annoying as hell, because it made keeping a schedule damned near impossible.

"Jennifer, luv, ye did na' have ta pack a kitchen sink," said the Scottish doctor as he tried to lift her bag, after motioning her to a nearby chair.

Unable to stop herself, she burst out laughing. "You're the second person to say that to me," she gasped between laughs.

"Oh, and who would that be?" he teased, "One of the 'strapping young lads in uniform'?"

"No," she spat, her brow furrowing. Her grandfather had been an Army Lieutenant, and had given his right arm in service to his country. He had hammered home to her that the cost of freedom was paid in lives. Lives snuffed out and lives shattered. Respect the members of the military for the sacrifices they made.

Yet every marine she had encountered here, looked at her as if she was a piece of dirt, begrudgingly grunting an answer when she asked directions. More than a few had muttered about arrogant scientists and the like, intentionally loud enough for her to here. None of them offered to help her with her bag, even the few clearly not on duty. She paid their grumbling no mind however.

"Then who," Carson asked turning to look into his microscope again.

"Doctor McKay," she said simply, "He wasn'—

"RODNEY!" the Scott screeched incredulously, whipping around to face her again. Disbelief etched its way on to his face as he grabbed her shoulders.

Pulling her hands away from her ears, she glared at her old mentor. "Are you done trying to wake the dead?" Her question came out more testily than she had wanted. "As I was saying: he wasn't what I expected, especially after the stories I heard about him. He was… nice."

Silence filled the room as the seconds ticked by.

Jennifer blinked when Carson suddenly doubled over laughing. "I'm sorry for shoutin' luv," he apologized, once his laughter came under control. "I's just tha' Rodney never helps anyone unless he has to. And then he complains about it waistin' his time."

"Really," she was still having trouble reconciling the kindness he showed her with monster from the stories.

The Scotsman paused for a moment his head tilted in though. "Once he screamed at a marine for over an hour for thinking one of his experiments was a video game. According to Rodney, the lad destroyed three months of work. I heard he even broke down inta tears. The poor soul, he still flinches every time Rodney glances at him."

"That sounds more like the ogre heard about," she said with a smile.

"Aye, Rodney can be a right bloody terror at times. But, if ye can get past tha' rough exterior of his, he's actually a pretty descent fellow. Did ye star' an argument wi'h him?"

"No," Jennifer said, clearly confused.

"Ye mus' of done somethin' ta crack his shell so fast. Usually a good argument will do it."

"An argument?" she asked curiosity blooming.

"Aye, Rodney loves ta argue." The Scott smiled, fondly thinking of the confrontations he had had with the astrophysicist, "We've almos' come ta blows a few times over whose research is more important. Oddly enough, because of it, I think I'm closest thing he has ta a best friend."

Jennifer was amazed to here this, still, "I didn't do anything; he asked if it was my first time in a helicopter." She reached up and undid the tie, holding back her blonde hair.

"Oh bugger!" Carson muttered, his hand shooting to his forehead, "Why did na' see it before?"

"Carson?" her curiosity turning to confusion.

"Rodney fancies you're crownin' glory!" he said, and then noticing the lost look on her on her face, "You're hair; he's got a thing for blondes, as you Americans say."

It all made sense to her now, her Uncle Joe was the same way—surlier than a ridge cat with a bur stuck in all four paws, but get a baby near him and he melted into a giant teddy bear. Her confusion vanished, and a conspiratorial smile took its place.

"Wha're we jus' standin' around jawin' for? We need ta get ye settled in," the Scott grunted some as he lifted Jennifer's bag before leading her out of the infirmary.

* * *

"Rodney," the Head of Research, looked up as he heard Doctor Elizabeth Weir call his name. Whatever it was, it had to be important. They had an understanding; he would come see her when he was finished making sure the incompetents he was forced to work with had not screwed anything up in his absence. Only two things could warrant this kind of interruption: an emergency at Stargate Command or… He hoped, he prayed it was the first.

It was the second.

"I just received a call from Doctor Green," Elizabeth said simply.

The split second of panic that crossed his features was replaced with a rapidly darkening thunderhead. He whistled, catching the attention of everyone in the lab. "All of you out—NOW!" he shouted. The other researches scrambled to comply, preferring not to risk his wrath. Once the others were outside and the door shut, his anger vanished. "What happened?"

The dark haired woman sighed, "There's no easy way to say this. Kathryn and Helen were expelled from the Carlyle Institute for fighting."

"Son of a bitch!" Rodney yelled his thunderhead returning, darker than before. His fists clenched. Spinning he slammed one into a nearby filing cabinet hard enough to dent it. The impact was loud enough to make Doctor Weir jump. Though the angry outburst was nothing new, expected even, but they usually precluded physical violence. "They said it wouldn't be a problem! They even guaranteed me."

"Rodney," Elizabeth asked gently, seeing the tears threatening to flood his eyes, "has this happened before?"

"Yes," his answer was thick with the emotions he was fighting to control.

"I'm sorry," the dark-haired woman placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know you just got back, but if you need time off to deal with this, I understand."

"That's just it," he replied sullenly, "no amount of time off is going to fix this; the Carlyle Institute is a school of last resort. The only option I have left is home schooling. And I cannot do that _and_ work here at the same time. I'm sorry Elizabeth, but I have to resign."

He straightened his back, pulling his still clinched fist from the filing cabinet. Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, Rodney left a stunned Doctor Weir behind, marching through the halls of the outpost, anger seething within him. In his fury, he steamrolled over anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path, even the marines were not immune. Most had seen that dark cast to his countenance before, and knew to leave him be.

One was not so lucky. "That's it," he called as McKay shoved him aside, "I've had it being treated like crap by you egotistical asses!" his punch hit the scientist across the check. His blue eyes glairing, Rodney spun, delivering a punch of his own with more speed than even he believed possible. The marine was slumped unconscious against the far wall, his broken nose oozing blood.

The astrophysicist just stood there trembling in his rage. It smoldered in his eyes as pure cobalt fire. He turned them on one of the other marines, daring him to try something. He faintly heard someone call for a medical team over the drumming of blood in his ears, throbbing in time with a dull pain creeping through his hand. Staring down in an oddly disjointed disbelief as his anger dulled, fear widening his eyes as he realized what he had done. He was in such a state of shock, he did not even argue when Carson ordered him to the infirmary, to make sure nothing in his hand was broken.

"Ow!" Rodney said, flinching away from the cue tip smearing an antiseptic cream across his bloodied knuckles. The nurse looked at him, an exasperated look etched on her features, but she continued. Other than Carson, Marie Cho was the only person in medical that he trusted was competent enough to make rational scientific decisions. He hissed as, once again, pain exploded from his grievously injured hand. He would probably need to put it in a brace for the next week or so just to be safe. After all, Carson was _only_ reasonably sure his hand was not broken. It felt like it though! That would slow his work considerably, and just as he was sure he was about to make a breakthrough with the chair.

Actually, no it would not. Not now, not when he had to resign from this project, go back home and take care of his daughters. _That_ was a sour medicine to swallow. But family—_his_ family—_his_ daughters—came first. This project had been his last chance at an earth-shattering discovery; metaphorically speaking, of course. His last chance to cement his name in the history books alongside the likes of Einstein and Newton. But no, he would have to pack up and head home to take care of his girls. It was a bittersweet revelation.

The sounds of raised voices pulled Rodney from his thoughts. It was Captain Reed, the commander of the marine contingent here at the outpost. The man's gruff voice carried from out in the corridor, "I want him brought up on charges for assaulting one of my men!"

"That isn't going to happen," Rodney heard Dr. Weir reply levelly.

"Are you smoking something," the Captain, retorted incredulously, "that nut-job almost broke his skull for God's sake!"

"The way I heard it, Captain," Weir said, forcefully, but still in that same level tone, though he could hear the strain at having to do so, "your marine hit Dr. MacKay _first_. As far as I'm concerned Rodney acted in self-defense."

There was a moment of silence, then, "Fine, we'll just see who General O'Neal believes when he comes for his inspection next month."


End file.
